


That Shaking Vulcan Finger Trick

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-29
Updated: 2006-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheppard finds out exactly what it takes to push McKay into the uncharted country of complete and utter silence.  Featuring a guest appearance by thigh holsters because - duh, <em>thigh holsters</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Shaking Vulcan Finger Trick

The silence in Sheppard's quarters is beyond unsettling.

"Rodney – "

McKay holds up his hand, one finger extended, and it's shaking with what John reckons has to be some sort of barely repressed rage.

"It's not like I _tried_ to get myself – " He pauses when the look on Rodney's face blooms into a grotesque and vaguely alarming combination of fury and fear. Half of John expects to get smacked about the head and told he's grounded, while the other half mourns the loss of the betting pool – what it _actually_ takes to silence Rodney McKay has less to do with the higher planes of astrophysical theory and the talents of the sheep-herders on F'nai than it does to do with the fortunes of one John Sheppard, pinned down in a rapidly depleting airlock with three Wraith and seven weapons of undetermined origin, none of which could be found in the palm of John's own hand.

Rodney's jaw's squeezed so tight that John calculates he's probably four seconds from being the first man to arrange the spontaneous combustion of his own skull. He can't help but step back defensively as Rodney reaches for the zipper on his vest – Rodney's watched a lot of Star Trek, and it's possible there's some kind of Vulcan evisceration by shaking finger that's a fitting punishment for the first man to push McKay beyond the limits of his inventive vocabulary – but Rodney merely eases down the zipper and tugs the vest away. It takes a moment to accomplish considering the fact that John is flat against the wall and wondering if he could get Atlantis to open up a crevice for him to climb into as a protective measure, but then he's vestless and there are fingers winding into the fabric of his tshirt, and someone – Rodney, definitely Rodney – is yanking him in two or three different directions at once before he's forced to sit down on the bed and wincing as pain lances up his spine.

He grinds his teeth and hopes it's not noticeable. From the way Rodney's just growled at him, he reckons that's something of a pipe dream.

Rodney kneels down and John wonders if he should cover his own balls in protection – he's never seen the bastard so intent upon something like revenge - but then there are fingers against his thigh and all his thoughts escape on a thin hiss of air. Rodney's unfastening his thigh holster and Jesus _God_ he didn't know Rodney had it in him to handle anything this gently, save obscure pieces of Ancient technology that resemble toasters, but that's a given and this is his _thigh_. He mumbles and Rodney glances at him, unfastening the restraints that keep the weapon snug against his leg, and this has to be the sixth or seventh circle of hell, this pressure and pull and release and the sudden realization that if Rodney doesn't kiss him he's going to eviscerate _himself_ with that Vulcan-shaking-finger trick because Wraiths are one thing, but Rodney McKay so transparently sick with relief is quite another.

"I'm sorry," John mumbles, and he's not apologizing for the airlock exactly - because there's not a lot a man can do when faced with alien vampires and sub-nuclear weaponry save try to stay just this side of suicide while saving the world - but he's sorry he's stolen Rodney's words since he's realizing he likes them a lot, even when they're usually deployed to flay the skin from his back.

"You – "

He quirks an eyebrow and waits for the explosion of invective to hit him, but it never comes. Instead Rodney's hand squeezes his thigh and his lips are close and there's some fraction of a second to recognize wow, there's an upside to this whole Wraith business, before they're kissing hard, all teeth and tongue and the abrasion of stubble, and _fuck_ he didn't know it would take nearly four hundred near-death experiences before he'd line up a better kind.

"Rodney – " His voice is shaking but he reckons he's exactly one galaxy away from caring.

"I will kill you – I will take your body and kill you over and over again for the sadistic pleasure of murdering you dead if you _ever_ pull a stunt like that again," Rodney grinds out from between clenched teeth. "I will drag your carcass back from the void and I will carve you into an amalgam of molecules _just_ so there's more of you to torture, do you hear me? You'll come back from dead begging and _pleading_ with me to stop. _I will eviscerate you, do you fucking well understand_?"

John blinks, and it's going earn him a Vulcan finger to the bowels, but he can't help the lazy smile that creeps across his face. "Geez, Rodney. Sorta hard to grasp your point when you've blown out my eardrums at six paces . . . "

"So help me God I will – "

But he gets the point, and it's better communicated with the slide of their mouths than the words Rodney's no doubt planning to berate him with for the rest of their lives, so he kisses him hard and succumbs to his own relief about being alive around the time that Rodney shivers and presses closer still.


End file.
